Pocket full of wool
by munkinette
Summary: Either as lame spinner or almighty sorcerer, Rumplestiltskin had been so close to truly becoming dust. "Broken"-inspired ficlet.


_Because seeing Gold with a handful of wool fluff in Broken was giving me feels. I just can't not cuddle him… with words. :)  
_

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The pawnbroker and the wizard concurred to sitting down at the wheel for just a little while. This was the first respite that Rumplestiltskin would allow himself, ever since the saviour had brought back searing remembrances of a wind-whirled life twenty-eight years forgotten. When oblivious to the curse, it had not crossed Gold's mind to ever come anywhere near the wheel in his shop for other purpose than to check its structural integrity. Later, when the fog constricting the memories of his real life was lifted, Rumplestiltskin forbade himself the luxury of dissolving the renewed worries into oblivion with every completed circle of his wheel. With these memories also came his sense of purpose, newly restored and made more powerful than ever by the knowledge that he has come this far, and, if he would abandon his mission now, there'll be no coming back.

But the night when the dark curse has finally been broken, he would allow himself to spin again. There was no simmer of gold when spinning in this world, but the soft, barely audible creaks, the scent of the wood polished throughout centuries and warming up in his palm, and the touch of wool, tickling his fingers in long longed-for caresses, were all too familiar, and he knew they would bring back the very few welcomed memories and a hostile army of dreadful ones. He always remembered, right before he would begin to forget. They rushed through him, every single one of them, with the force of the storm outside, all the same as before and yet, somehow, their impact quite different.

Rumplestiltskin was still a broken monster. The cowardice, the despair, the darkness, the overwhelming sadness, for they had cost him everything he hold dear, were churning underneath his skin just like the Dark One's magic once had, in a land he'd been long parted from. The horrors he had done there, the lives he took, culminating with alienating his precious Bae for fear of returning to his pitiful condition still burned deep into his soul. Losing Belle, witnessing her turn her back on him not once, but twice, made his heart clench as if the hands of the very Queen were grinding it to dust. Either as lame spinner or almighty sorcerer, Rumplestiltskin had been so close to truly becoming dust…

… and yet he pulled through somehow, and Gold was more decided than ever to exploit whatever glimmer of hope this new world would lay in his path. Bae was closer now than he had been since the agonizing day of their parting, and Gold knew he would do anything in his human and magic powers combined to see his darling boy again, for the two of them to be reunited so he could ask for forgiveness. His Belle was alive! Still brave in this unfamiliar world, still caring for a hopeless fool like himself. Upset with his trickery, but unscarred, and he would make sure she will be protected against Regina and anyone else who might wish to do her harm, including himself. In this world, he would start making amends. He couldn't possibly hope for redemption, but he would spare the people he holds dear all further entanglement into his monstrous ways.

Gold stood up and limped to the front room, bending over the glass counter to retrieve the most precious possession he has been housing in his shop and heart. Curling his fingers protectively around the little cup, he then returns to the wheel, placing it at his side and eying it fondly. He couldn't remember the last time he'd gazed upon it like he was now, without sulking or feeling overwhelmed with regret, without it being a constant reminder of what he'd allowed himself to lose. He had survived so much more than this little porcelain trinket, and yet his heart was still as fragile and broken as it was. He would have expected his heart to feel nothing by now, for him to truly become coldhearted.

But behind the bravure elicited by the power of the Dark One or by the ownership of Storybrooke, there was still a shaken, desperate soul in need of acceptance, companionship and warmth. And the only person in two worlds combined who knew that and held the healing magic called true love was the blue-eyed girl returning to gently move aside thick curtains and lay her eyes on her Rumplestiltskin, spinning in silence next to a flicker of light coming from a chipped cup. Her chipped cup. Theirs.


End file.
